Риф, или Там, где разбивается счастье

VII

           “Mydesigns,”hecontinuedwithasmile,“werenotnefarious.Isawyou’dbeenthroughabadtimewithMrs.Murrett,andthattheredidn’tseemtobemuchfunaheadforyou;andIdidn’tsee—andIdon’tyetsee—theharmoftryingtogiveyouafewhoursofamusementbetweenadepressingpastandanotparticularlycheerfulfuture.”Hepausedagain,andthenwenton,inthesametoneoffriendlyreasonableness:“ThemistakeImadewasnottotellyouthisatonce—nottoaskyoustraightouttogivemeadayortwo,andletmetrytomakeyouforgetallthethingsthataretroublingyou.IwasafoolnottoseethatifI’dputittoyouinthatwayyou’dhaveacceptedorrefused,asyouchose;butthatatleastyouwouldn’thavemistakenmyintentions.—Intentions!”Hestoodup,walkedthelengthoftheroom,andturnedbacktowhereshestillsatmotionless,herelbowsproppedonthedressing-table,herchinonherhands.“Whatrubbishwetalkaboutintentions!ThetruthisIhadn’tany:Ijustlikedbeingwithyou.Perhapsyoudon’tknowhowextraordinarilyonecanlikebeingwithyou....Iwasdepressedandadriftmyself;andyoumademeforgetmybothers;andwhenIfoundyouweregoing—andgoingbacktodreariness,asIwas—Ididn’tseewhyweshouldn’thaveafewhourstogetherfirst;soIleftyourletterinmypocket.”

           Hesawherfacemeltasshelistened,andsuddenlysheunclaspedherhandsandleanedtohim.

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